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FROM PHOTO BY 

A. O CARPENTER 
UKIAH, CAL. 



LA^^jCU St/i 



f fr-n~iA<**J HJ^oL 



THE 



LATER POEMS 



OF 



Anna Morrison Reed 



IN ONE VOLUME 



FEC 3 1892 ) 

'RANCISCO 
J. STUART & COMPANY, PUBLISHERS 
18 91 



9&^ 



COPYRIGHT 1891 



ANNA MORRISON REED 

LAYTONV LLE. CAl. 



ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 



PRINTED BY P. M. DIERS & CO., SAN FRANCISCO. 



TO THE MEMORY OF MY MOTHER. 



CONTENTS 



Monody 
—a Monody 



A Golden Dream In Memory of Leon 

Ante-Mortem 

Browning .... 

Christmas, 1890 

Death of General Grant — a 

Death of President Garfield- 

Fragments .... 

Gertrude and Theodore 

Good Friday 

Her King .... 

"I Do Begrudge to Time" 

"I Pass Her Grave" 

" I Thirst" .... 

June 

Love's Magic Seal 

"Miles Are Between Us" 

Mother — a Reverie . 

"My Life is Devoted to Memories of 

"No Babes in Arms" — a Satire 

Ode to Progress — Prize Poem 

Retrospect 

Sacramento , 

Sonnets 

Sunset 

The Eclipse .... 

"The Gladdest Heart" . 

To a Charming Portrait of a Gypsy Maiden 

To the Native Sons of the Golden West 

To the University of California 

Washington— 1789-1889 

Wasted 



You 



19 

44 

2 

42 

*3 

17 

1 
48 

25 
27 

37 
33 
36 
6 
28 
39 
34 



29 
5i 
49 
26 

43 
9 



THE LATER POEMS 



OF 



ANNA MORRISON REED 



I?er King 



A WINSOME maiden planned her life- 
How, where she was her hero's wife, 

He should be royal among men, 

And worthy of a diadem. 

Through all the devious ways of earth 



"£> 



(T ' 
t5 » 



She sought her king; 
The snows of Winter fell before — 

She walked o'er flowers of vanished Spring 
Into the Summer's fragrant heat 
She bent her quest, with rapid feet, 
Then saddened; still she journeyed down 
The Autumn hillsides, bare and brown, 
Through shadowy eves and golden morns ; 
And lo ! she found him — crowned with thorns 



POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 



jD eQ f? °f P^esibent ^Q^fielb 

A MONODY 

Read in Ukiah, California, Monday, September 26th, 1881. 



• DisfatcA tin J Dem 
Anna M. Reed then stepped to the front and read the following 
eloquent and d the death of him who lias gone from earth's 

- of toil and trouble t<> the realms of everlasting life where " the wicked cease from 

troubling" and the "weary be at rest ;" there where '"the small and the ureal" are 

gathered. Then id the impression made was one of deep 

solemnity. The sentiments are those of a truly Christian heart, and the pathos therein 

ined awakened the tel. 



T-OLL all the bells! a great soul's passed away 

From clouds and shadows to the perfect day ; 
The wasted garment that is left behind 
Must be to ashes and to dust consigned. 
The tears of suffering death has wiped away, 
But who shall dry the eyes of those who stay 
The aged mother and the faithful wife? 
The children wailing for that ended life? 
The nation calling for the leader slain, 
Who long weeks languished on his bed of pain? 

DO ■» 

Toll all the bells, heat low the muffled drum; 
In long procession mourning millions come 
To honor him who, in a land of laws, 
By lawless hand has died, without a cause. 



POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 

Beside the ocean, that, with measured surge, 
Chanted his first and grandest funeral dir^e — 
Sublimest minstrel at the feet of God; 
It still sang on, while fell the mystic rod 
And moaned a requiem tor the parting soul, 
Soaring beyond this little world's control. 
No human voice may sing of him so well, 
Nor all the grandeur c\ his history toll ; 
But to his memory, out of main- lands, 
Will struggling genius lift aspiring hands 
To him who fortune's darkest frowns withstood, 
And kept his every aim still great and good — 
Who reached the summit of the hill of tame 
With life, unblemished and unsullied name — 
A grand rebuke t<> every weaker heart 
That tempted, turneth from the better part; 
Reproaching those who, like the one of old, 
Their birthright for a "mess o\ pottage" sold. 
His mind, tintrammeled, was as broad as Earth; 
His heart was centered at his family hearth — ■ 
He made his home a type of all things^seem 
Of which the honest Christian soul can dream, 
Fit emblem of that home in fairer lands 
Where mansions wait, not built by human Hands. 



4 POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 

The annals of the past one truth repeat 
Of those, whose lives with greatness were replete — 
This fact, more eloquent than all beside, 
Whate'er their history, they all have died. 
Sceptre or crown, the pride of place or power 
To frail mortality loaned but for an hour, 
When death had pointed to the solemn bier, 
They learned the mockery of all things here ; 
Sowing that others might the harvest reap, 
Along the wayside they have gone to sleep — 
Tired of the treasures that the years may rust, 
Tired of the things that are but sordid dust, | steal, 
Tired of the -old that thieves break through and 
Tired of the wrongs successive years reveal — 
The graves of such, like landmarks, strew the sod, 
Pointing submission to the will of God. 

But though the souls of men like him we mourn 
()n waxes of mystery are beyond us borne — 

A grateful world their names perpetuate, 
And well may strive their deeds to emulate; 
For though they drift beyond the tides of fame, 
We feel, indeed, they have not lived in vain. 
A proud inheritance has this one left 



POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 

To all his loved ones and the land bereft — 

His pure example may the world defy — 

His glorious principles can never die; 

Nor that so blessed and so heaven-sent. 

On which its authors based our government, 

Where earnest manhood, by its simple worth, 

Depends not on the accident of birth — 

By honest labor, without gold to buy, 

May earn and reach its stations proud and high. 

Oh! let the flags droop low — toll all the hells; 
We lay him down amid our List farewells. 
Under the earth, with loving tributes dressed, 
Do we resign him to his lasting rest; 
And to Columbia, still safe and free, 
We trust the honor ot his memory; 
As turns his sacred clay to kindred sod, 
His martyred spirit finds repose with God. 



POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 



M ot !? CT> "& "Reuerie 



HX the brush fence by the lane 
I hear the stormbirds crying. 
And I know the winter rain 

Soon will beat where thou art lying"; 
For the wind and rain are near, 

When the stormbirds are a-crying. 
A brave, bright, winter rose 

Taps the window where I'm sitting; 
Its heart with beauty glows, 

While the autumn hours are flitting; 
It taps the silent pane 

Of the window where I'm sitting. 
The south wind kisses light 

Its petals, curved and folded, 
Like a picture warm and bright, 

Close in the heart enfolded — 
Like a dream of love and youth, 

In the heart of age enfolded. 
And it speaks to me of thee, 

While the stormbirds are a-crying, 



POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REEI 

Though thy face I cannot see, 

Thy memorv is lying 
In the winter of my heart, 

Best, brightest and undying 
I dream of thee so dear, 

Before the woodfire glowing ; 
I hear the he.d-bells clear. 

And the cattle softlv lowi: 
The sounds foretell the rain, 

While the fire is bri^htlv glowini 
In thought I pass the lane 

Where stormbirds are a-crying. 
As to some sacred fai 

To the grave where thou art lvii. 
Through fragrant pine-wood aisles 

Where the sunset glow is dvi: 
Where one can not hear the noise 

Of a footfall on the mosses: 
Where the pine leaves lightly poise 

Like a pile of russet flosses; 
Where the rabbit or the squirrel, 

With silent footstep, cross 
Where the brake, with quiv'ring fronds, 

Beside the gravestone whispers 



POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 

The earliest matin songs, 

And at eve the sadder vespers, 
That the nicrht wind softly taught 

The leaves to chant in whispers. 
There so quietly you sleep, 

While the restless winds are sighing". 
In the grave so dark and deep, 

Nor heed the stormbirds crying, 
Xor the tears that fall like rain, 

And my heart within me dying. 
The rose taps on the pane, 

And the stormbirds are a-crying, 
And I soon will hear the rain 

Beat through the wind's low sighing, 
While rose leaves llutter clown 

On the grave where thou are lying. 



POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 



^asl/ington 



1789-1889 



.ACROSS a century of change 
We reach our hands to thee — 
Toward one bright and changeless thing. 
Thy honored memorv. 



Alonor the battlements of Time 

No hero lived and died 
Whose name in song and deathless rhyme 

Is uttered with such pride. 

It stirs the heart of free-born men, 

And whispers to the slave 
The truths that e'en make eloquent 

The silence of thy grave. 

Xo stain was on thy grand career, 

Of lust, or pride or greed ; 
Thv sword was never bared because 

Of some unhallowed creed. 



10 POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 

O Washington ! if from the realms 

Of perfect love and light 
The immortal thought of one like thee 

May earthward take its flight, 

Look down upon this land to-day — 

Across from sea to sea — 
Thy great soul will be thrilled to know 

How much we honor thee. 

We ask in thy dear name to he 
Made faithful to our trust, 

And lay our wreaths of immortelles 
Upon thy sacred dust. 



POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 11 



^asteb 



NOT Time, that sacred heritage to all, 
For in the cycles that have passed away 
I cannot count me one lost, idle day, 
Nor opportunity; to fate's most meager gift, 

I have been eager, heart and hand to lift. 

What waste could then my faithful life befall ? 

A cheek whose roses bloomed for eyes so 'blind. 

They did not sec they were the rarest kind ; 

Words that the world had listened for for years, 
Falling unanswered on the dullest ears; 
A heart worn out — as fond as ever heat. 
Its wine of life spilled at unworthy feet ; 
A soul so tortured, as years come and go, 
Its wasted treasure, God alone can know. 



12 POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 



"Retrospect 



«npHERE is a witching mem'ry my heart so oft 

recalls — 
A silver cornet ringing" above the palace walls, 
Where from a draperied window a bright young 

face looked down 
Upon my lady's garden that graced Yokaya's town. 

Where passion flower and jasmine diffused a fra- 
grant balm ; 

Where shone the brilliant salvia and whispered 

pine and palm ; 
The willow o'er the fountain, with finders long and 

slim, 
Reached to the sparkling water that kissed the 

fretted brim, 
And many a woodland songster, awearied with the 

heat, 
Bathed in the cooling crystal and sang his matin 

sweet. 



POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 13 

O days, whose dawn's pink splendor waxed to a 

golden noon ! 
O perfume, song and blossom, in life's impassioned 

rune ! 
O south wind, blowing gently the petals at my feet ! 
O twilight, stealing over ! O kisses, rare and sweet ! 
O little maiden, singing beside the stately hall! 
O silver cornet, ringing above the palace wall ! 



"Qertrube anb £JI;eobore" 

A Lay of Ye Modern Knight and Lady Fair. 



w 



ITH a ring of hoofs I heard them pas 
As the horses spurned the brittle grass; 
A youth and maid of our modern time, 
On the morning side of life's sweet prime. 
Active and graceful, and fair and young 
As any that poet has ever sung ; 
No knight of old, with spurs bedight 
Could be to me a braver sight, 
E'en though he went with plume and glove 
To joust for the sake of his lady love. 



14 POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 

And she — what maid of olden time, 

Extolled in song or praised in rhyme, 

Compares with her, whose form and face 

Are perfect in their winsome grace? 

They rode through the waning Summer's hours, 

Where the sunlight sifted in golden showers 

Through the woodland aisles in a solemn hush, 

Through the firs and pine and hazel brush, 

And down by the lessening river's brim 

Where the sedge, with fingers long and slim, 

Reached to the waters, clear and cool, 

And dabbled in each shadowy pool. 

Across their path the .startled deer 

Bounded away with a sudden tear; 

The grouse, from the shade of the deepest wood, 

Drummed and called to their mottled brood. 

Again and again was softly heard 

The tender fretting oi some bird 

That o'er her nest, in a shy alarm, 

Hovered, to keep her young from harm; 

The twittering quail to cover sped, 

The silent rabbit as quickly fled. 

They rode away through the pathways dim 

To the redwood forest's farthest rim. 



POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 15 

While the sun sank clown in the Golden West 

And rested awhile on the ocean's breast, 

Into the forest, darkly dim — 

I dreamed of them —she dreamed of him— 

And he— not on the tented field, 

Where there's on'y a life to take or yield — 

Will this knight of mine* his battle wage; 

But amidst the strife of this wond'rous a< 

Where swords arc rusting, while gallant men 

Reach n >bler vict'ries by tongue or pen ; 

Where the proudest destiny ever sought 

Is to rule ,i king in the realm of thought. 

And what of her? ( ) ( iod above ! 

Keep her, and shield and crown with love; 

The only thing of this world a part 

That is worth the price of a woman's heart. 

They have ridden away through the rosy light — 

Ridden away from sound and sight; 

Fairer than ever was writ or sung 

To the clang of hoofs their laughter rung. 

Into the future, dim and unknown. 

They will go on — but I am alone, 

Dreaming- of them — from the world apart— 

Their laughter echoes against my heart. 



16 POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 



£unset 



•HRHE evening's genius with his sword of flame 

Guards well the portal of the dying day ; 
His lance of light he strikes against the hills. 

Upon the highest breaks its glancing ray ; 
He marshals grandly on a crimson sea 
I lis cloudship navy's golden argosy, 
Whose Haunting banner in the sunset glow 
Bids brave defiance to the darkening foe; 
Who, swift advancing, o'er him softly flings 
The purple shadow of the twilight's wings, 
Till war's red (lush before the night wind's breath 
Fades out into the sullen gray of death, 
And star-eyed night, prevailing all too soon, 
1 langs out the silver sickle of the moon. 



POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 17 



(Joob fribay 



^O- DAY the Saviour died — suffered the Cruci- 
fied, 
Yet could His failing eyes see the repentant's tear, 
Saying : "In Paradise thou shalt with Me appear." 
" Father, forgive!" He prayed; such blessed 

words He said, 
11 They know not what they do." This in the face 

of death. 
This for His enemies, asked with His latest breath. 
Yet do His children now turn from His face and 

bow, 
Xot to this lowlv one ; down to strange g-ods beside; 

* «■> o 

And in their lust and pride, still is He crucified. 

How long will they profane His pure and sacred 

name? 
Placing His holv sicm, His emblems so divine, 
In midst of mockery, on each unhallowed shrine? 

"I thirst!" — to each poor heart, struck by some 

poisoned dart, 
Treading the narrow way — ready to faint and fall, 



18 POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 

To the parched lips that cry, earth gives her bitter 

gall. 
Oh, let us kneel to-day! kneel in the dust and 

pray, 
Close to His bleeding feet; seeking our soul's 

relief, 
In deep repentant grief— e'en like the dying thief. 

Jesus, the "Prince of Peace/' when shall the striv- 
ing cease ? 
1 )ark roll the waves of death ; can we the current 



stem ? 

Seeing at last Thy face — touching Thy garment's 
hem ? 

Forgive each idle word Thy outraged ears have 
heard, 

Each sinful act forgive; into Thy hands receive 

At death our sorrowing souls, that they may live. 

This day the Saviour died — suffered the Crucified ; 

Yet He, the suppliant, heard, and He could pity- 
ing see ; 

Saying: "In Paradise, to-day, thou shalt be 
with Me." 



POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 19 



Oistmas, 1890 



ujHEN, 'neath the stars of Bethlehem, 
The angels sang: "Good will to men," 
And "Peace on earth," a promise gave, 
Since man was ransomed from the grave, 
All earth, with sweet foreboding, smiled, 
Because was born a homeless child. 

A million spires point to the sky 

Where He, transfigured, took His flight, 
Toward that great unsleeping Eye, 

Watching o'er death, and sin, and night. 
For eighteen hundred years has been 

His triumph most devoutly sung, 
O'er death, and sin, and suffering, 

In every clime — in every tongue. 



Yet, while the organ grandly swells 
Within our great cathedral walls, 

Chime answering chime of silvery bells, 
Upon the air of Christmas falls. 



20 POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 

Fair women, decked in silk and lace, 
Go warm and blest to softly pray, 

And hasten to each sacred place 

That gladly welcomes Christmas day. 

Oh, Prince of Peace, who lived and died ! 

Oh, why upon this holy morn, 
When sounds and scenes of reverence tell 

This was the day that Thou wert born, 
As from these temples of our pride 

The happy worshipers have filed, 
Why, cold and hungry, just outside, 

Do we still find the homeless child? 



POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 21 



& Soiben iD reQTri 



In Memory of Leon. 



tf 



HERE the yellow Feather river 

Rolled its tide afar, 
With its fruit, an orange laden, 

Grew at Bidwell's Bar. 

There a little maid, one morningf. 
Looking on the scene, 

Tree and [lower and fruit were mingled 
In a summer dream. 

Steep the garden terrace — steeper 

Was the mountain side, 
Where the scarlet trumpet creeper 

Trailed above the tide. 

Not more scarlet was the blossom 

Than her dainty lips, 
Like twin rose leaves, curved and folded, 

With exquisite tips. 



22 POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 

And so soft and brown and changing 

Were her tender eyes, 
Like a pool seen late in summer 

Where a shadow lies. 

In her hands were tiger lilies, 

Gathered ere the sun 
Had the time to kiss each chalice — 

Golden, every one. 

As she razed with gentle longing 

Through the lambent air, 
A boy came running clown the hillside, 
Crowned with tawny hair. 

Blue his eyes — yes, blue as heaven, 

And his form and face 
Promise bore of manly beauty. 

In their strength and grace. 

O'er the garden wall he bounded, 

Plucking fruit and flower, 
Tossed them to the little maiden 

In a fragrant shower. 



POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 

Blushing, then, she thanked him sweetly, 

With a glad surprise 
Dimpling all her smiling features, 

Shining from her eyes. 

While a lady from the mansion, 

High above the tide, 
" Leon, Leon," softly calling, 
Called him from her side. 

As she bore her treasures homeward 

Over hill and stream, 
All her pure young soul was lifted 

In a sunny dream. 

Through the future rode to meet her, 

On a steed so rare, 
A blue-eyed prince, in royal velvet, 

With loner aolden hair. 

And so shrined in her fond mem'ry, 

Lived from day to day, 
Crowned with curls of rippling splendor, 

Her own prince alway. 



24 POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 

On life's sea, uneven, drifting, 

Each the other's face did see 
Seldom ; and death's fiat falling, 

Parted them eternally. 
******* 
Not one orange tree, but thousands 

Grace the plains of Butte, 
And like sands upon the sea shore 

Lies their golden fruit. 

But one tree, where miners, delving, 

Left but seam and scar, 
Crowning all the desolation 

In the past afar ; 

With its fruit and creamy blossoms, 

Each a separate star, 
One no other tree can rival 

Grew at Bidwell's Bar. 

And, alas! Time sees the passing 

Of all, good and fair — 
Cold his heart — low in the grave mold 

Lies his golden hair. 



POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 25 



"3f P qss f? er S^ 1 ^ 



ERE, to and fro — Time's wearied slave- 

I come and go, and pass her grave ; 
A level lane — three roads divide, 
Where I would fain oft pause beside, 
I still pass by, on either side. 

God help me! As the whip of care 
Still urges on my lagging feet, 
No time to pray, no time to greet, 

And save me ere I quite despair. 
Since she is lying with the dead, 
I have no place to lay my head, 

And weep for all that I have borne. 

I pass her grave, nor pause to mourn ; 
My heart alone stays with the dead. 



26 POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 



Go tlje JJattoe £)ons of tlje golden ]J/est 



tyO the Native Sons of the Golden West, 
The genius of this bright century sings, 
In a land where the kiss of the sun on her breast 
Gives life to a thousand beautiful things. 



&" 



Where the grolden orange and scarlet fire 
Of fragrant pomegranate blossoms shine ; 

Where tropical beauty and northern balm 
Blend in the shadows of palm and pine. 

To the Pioneer and the Native Son 

Give honor, O Land of the golden West! 

One's work is over, but just begun 

For the other — for honor and fame the quest. 

Happy the homes in a radiant land, 

And happy the maidens who will be blest, 

In a country united in heart and hand, 

By the love of the sons of the Golden West. 



POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 27 

To the Native Sons of the Golden West 
The Century's Genius prophetic sings — 

Xot alone of the past, but a future blest 
By a countless treasure of beautiful things. 

September 9th, U 



"1 thirst" 

"Darling, yoa may always know that I am as 
constant as the sun." 

JJIHINK you the traveler on the desert waste, 
Dvin^ of thirst, would still refuse to taste 
When loving hands too gladly offered up 
To the parched lips the overflowing cup? 

This have I done; yet with beseeching hands, 
Famished, my soul cries from life's desert sands. 
As to the mirage returns the weary eyes, 
Or as the lost look back to Paradise, 
So to thy image, from this barren way. 
My tortured spirit turns day after day. 
Ere it is yielded, duty-worn and faint, 
Uttering for thee its hopeless, last complaint, 
Can it be sin, from this far waste of pain, 
To crave some token of thy truth ao-ain? 



28 POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 



JjliCE Life is O ei) °t e ^ to jJ)J[eTTiories of you' 



H SAILED beneath a burning sun, 

By coral reefs and isles of halm, 
Where orange groves and silvery palm 
By faint spice winds were gently fanned, 
Until I reached a tropic land. 
And with three thou and miles between 
The shores whereon two oceans fret, 
I bravely said, 4k I will forget/' 
And there beneath the Southern Cross 
I crept out in the breathless night; 
My heart was breaking, and the stars 
Shone dimly on my fevered sight — 
Ah ! vain is change of time or place ; 
In heaven itself I see — thv face! 



POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 29 



o> 



C? e Gdipse 



j\ ROUND a trackless waste of sky 

A dead world haunts this world of ours, 
Upon whose pulseless breast no bird 
May voice its joy among the flowers — 
Whence life and love and all have tied 
And left it silent, cold and dead. 
The only thing that still seems bright, 
The blessed sun's reflected light, 
The tender radiance so serene 
That falls in moonlights silvery sheen. 
As on my heart these shadowy thoughts 
Had left the while their sombre trace, 
A shadow from the weary world 
Fell over Luna's orhost-like face. 



30 POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 



^onnet 



7 

VOU cannot come to me, 



But with this gift that God has given 
I can reach out, o'er land and sea, 
O'er barriers of earth and heaven, 
And touch your heart exquisitely. 
The bird caged with a golden wire 
Sings not always for those who feed, 
Supplying every grosser need ; 
Above the tumult of her fate 
She listens, and she hears her mate; 
She dreams a dream of vanished Springs, 
She beats her wings, and sings, and sings — 
The world says, "Sweetly sings" — but, oh! 
You hear the undertone of woe. 



POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 31 



$rotoning 



E died in Venice — citadel of songs, 
To which for ages all romance belongs ; 
At whose proud shrine the poet and the sage 
Have left the offering of every age. 

He died in Venice ; but with dreaming eyes, 
I>y the Rialto and the Bridge of Sighs; 
And in and out a hundred water-ways, 

For years he glided through the perfect days. 

He died in Venice; but through all he dreamed 
The golden sunshine of Italia streamed, 
Where centered all those memories that endure 
Around the home of Tasso and the Moor. 

He died in Venice, but his work was done 
Long years before his sands of life were run — 
So ideal days he lived that did beseem 
The closing visions of a poet's dream. 



82 POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 

He died in Venice, where the lapping sea 
Kept time to that diviner minstrelsy [fraught 

With which his gifted soul through time was 
To live eternal in the world of thought. 

But the worn garment that is left behind 
They bear away to rest among its kind, 
In that far land where, in the Abbey's shade, 
Beside congenial dust, it will be laid. 

A poet's love, a poet's life and death, 
Blest from the earliest to his latest breath ; 
But of all things that could his age befall, 
To die in Venice seems the best of all. 



fragment 

1WIY heart has grown so heavy with the burden of 

its care, 
That to Sorrow's gloomy portal I have fled and 

left no trace ; 
But like moths from out the darknes to the light 

of thy loved face, 
My thoughts go fluttering ever from the night of 
my despair. 



POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 33 



£o»e's VW Q S 1#C £ eQ ' 



/£\FT have I smiled, when in youth's halcyon time, 

I heard in song, or read in deathless rhyme, 
How gallant knights, bedight in plume and glove, 
Had met and fought, and gladly died for love. 
How ladies, too, and maidens wondrous fair, 
Had wept, and pined, and died in love's despair; 
How Guinivere her crown and fame forgot, 
And sweet Elaine had died for Launcelot ; 
How Cleopatra, on the storied Nile, 
Did Antony from all the world beguile ; 
How brave Colonna mourned beside the sea 
Her worshiped lord, till death had set her free; 
How Abelard the cloister vainly sought, 
And saintly Heloise her vows forgot. 
Oft then I smiled ; for love, in that bright hour, 
Seemed to my fancy but a boasted power ; 
But now these things, prefiguring my fate, 

But faintly symbol all I know and feel ; 
This ardent passion, time cannot abate, 

Since on my soul, love set his magic seal. 



34 POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 



Qbe to Progress 

PRIZE POEM 

Awarded the gold medal by the Agricultural Association of Lake and Mendocino 
Counties, 1887. 



rZENIUS of this grand century, and guardian of 

the free, 
Who can a tribute worthily bring from our hearts 

to thee? 

When, 'neath the Star of Bethlehem, angels sang 
that blessed morn, 

u Peace on earth, good will to all men," Progress, 
thou wert also born. 

The ages past had never known thee, for man un- 
just oppressed 

His fellow man; who, suffering, saw might as right 
confessed. 

Ask Egypt's hordes, who toiled as helpless slaves 

To build her kings imperishable graves ; 

Or Grecian art, that on each heathen fane 

Left us the dower of some immortal name ; 

Or Rome's imperial grandeur crumbling down, 

If it was Progress marked their great renown. 



POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 35 

No! since the world and all its works began, 

Have Art and Science been the slaves of man ; 

Degraded oft, ignoble scopes to fill, 

To suit the vagaries of the human will. 

So Freedom's smile o'er Superstition's horde 

Accomplished more than power of fire and sword; 

While Christian libertv, o'er land and sea, 

Enlightens all, and makes the poorest free ; 

And things that were but dreams to Greece and 

Rome, 
With us to grand realities have crrown. 
A homeless child so touched the human soul, 
He made the world akin — one wondrous whole. 
His story echoes down the aisles of time, 
In every language told by tongues sublime; 
Nor will it cease till every land has heard 
The precious promise of His sacred word, 
That truth and justice shall prevail alone — 
Where they are not, Progress, thou art not 

known. 



36 -POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 



"Iflililes &re fjettoeen £(s" 



K/IILES are between us, and the relentless night 

Follows the sullen day in sombre flight ; 
Above the pine-woods in the distant west 
The clouds lie piled, a burden of unrest. 
I know you love me, but the chains that hold 
Were forged by destiny — relentless — cold ; 
They keep me from you, like a serpent's fold. 
But I cast all from me, that my fate has wrought, 
And hasten to you in my anguished thought. 
Thank God ! no other holds the place I crave 
On earth, or hidden in the solemn grave 
No woman rivals me ; whateer has been 
In this impassioned dream, I only sin. 
I cannot tell you, hero of my heart, 
How much I love you when so far apart. 
The world's best teaching holds us — honor, pride — 
But in a dream, unspeaking, by your side, 
I still may follow, safe from sound and sight, 
While the relentless day closes in sullen night. 



POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 37 



3[une 



►ETWEEN the roses of the May 
Looks out the radiant face of June; 

Blushing, she seems afraid to cross 
The threshold of the Spring so soon ; 

While my heart echoes, beat for beat, 

The tread of her reluctant feet. 

Passionate languor in her eyes, 

The kiss of Summer on her mouth — 

I love her harmony of birds— 

I love her soft winds of the South — 

Her cumulus clouds that grandly rise 

Across the sunlight of her skies. 

A lily with its laughing lips 

Opes as she smiles — a star-like shine 
Thrills me from heart to finger-tips 

With fragrance of the jessamine ; 
A dove her gentle note prolongs, 
Answering the last late robin's songs. 

As here I fondly weave my dreams, 

While waiting — face to face with June — 

Of you, my darling — beautiful 

As bird-song, blossom and perfume — 

Lulled on the Summer's slumberous breast, 

I dream, and know that I am blest. 



38 POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 



J3onnet 



J E are so far apart — even from ocean to ocean — 
As a nun would tell her beads, only with more 
devotion, 
Counting the days when we met, 
As the chain slips over my fingers, 
Over each thought of you my heart caressingly 



lingers. 



The long, bright lance of the sun, 

Reaching away from the sunset, 

Touches my hair and eyes, 

And the lips you kissed, when you told me, 

Constant you'd always be while the sun in his 

shining should hold me. 
The heart and the lips you love, grow warm his 

r£d rays under. 
Constant I know you are, though w r e are so far 

asunder. 
God bless and keep you so on the shore of another 

ocean — 
As a nun her beads, the hours I tell, only w T ith 

more devotion. 



POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 



A SAT IRE 

Suggested by seeing the above notice at the entrance to one of our fashionable theatres. 



yHILE Fashion trips within the door 
That Thespis opens wide before her, 
Pleasure and Vice, and many more, 

Beside their goddess quickly enter, 
Folly comes in, and Crime, her brother — 

All children of the same vile mother; 
The courtesan, with painted charms — 
But listen, not "the babe in arms." 

For Innocence there is no place 

In all this grand and brilliant throng; 
'Tis well, for on its modest face 

Blushes must burn for scene and song; 
Or, if unconscious, still its cries 

Might through the tearful silence steal, 
Marring the sense of ears and eyes 

That drink the rantin^s of Camille. 

Camille, sin-stamped, her life of crime 
Can never touch an honest heart, 



40 POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 

E'en painted by the fingers fine 

Of sentiment and finished art, 
Forgive all like her, and wish them good, 
But ask not true, pure womanhood 
To shed the sympathetic tear 
Over her guilty, weak career. 

* % * $ $ 

Over the rich man's palace gate 

Those words might well be placed quite often, 
When nothing can his craving sate, 

His greed for power, and pride of station. 
Some prince of style, with endless means, 

Whose social traits — a strange transition 
From when he lived on "pork and beans" — 

Now swell with limitless ambition. 

His wife, in fashion's trappings decked, 
Now leads a band of kindred spirits, 

Of whom she is the " great elect," 
To "kettledrums" and other places; 

Forgetting how, in earlier times, 

She once scoured kettles in the mines 

Before she hoisted o'er her charms 

The motto of " No babes in arms." 



.POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 41 

Her fragile health admits no more 
The cares that earnest woman busy ; 

Though grand receptions by the score 
Cannot fatigue, nor dancing weary. 

" A babe so breaks a mother's rest ! " 

As all her thousand friends attest, 

While gossiping their usual way 

Of husbands who are apt to stray, 

And have a liking for their club. 

Where evervbodv smokes and swaggers. 
While telling cronies where's the rub 

In politics and other matt 
A bad state of affairs at best, 

For husbands, wives, and all the rest. 

Xo sleep at Nature's fittest time — 

The night filled with unholy revel. 
What wonder that their faces wear 

Too oft the look of heartless devils? 
And men who could have loved, at rest, 
A baby on a mother's breast — 
To view with interest are agog 
A "thing" that pets a poodle-dog. 

4r ^& -^ 4lr "3lr 



42 POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 

The eyes of faith have looked beyond 

This life, that even at its best 
Is filled with care and pain untold — 

Its triumphs filled with strange unrest, 
And pictured an existence grand 
And glorious in an unknown land, 
Where all that pure in heart have been 
As little children enter in. 

While over all the hopeless dead, 

Entering at last the gates of doom, 
That sentence unrevoked and dread, 

God's fiat traces in the gloom, 
To meet and blast despairing eyes 
That turn away from Paradise 
And read above Hell's wild alarms: 
u There enter here no babes in arms." 



fragment 

| IX AN ALBUM.] 

51 WILL not wish you gold, or love, or fame — 

Too many sins, committed in their name, 
Sweep through the ages, and with dark surprise 
Their annals blast the light of artless eyes. 
Virtue alone can bless and crown your youth, 
Therefore I consecrate its days to truth. 



POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 43 



<>> 



C° ty e Kni^ersity of C Q ' 1 fo rn i Q 



lyiECCA of my lost youth, 

Between thy shrine and my sad heart, 
The years with pallid faces stand 
And hold us far apart. 

I reached aspiring hands 

Hung'ring toward thy "mount of light;" 
God filled them, measuring not my plans — 

He doeth all things right. 

His tasks appointed well, 

To idle heart-break not allied, 

Gave nature as my "Alma Mater" 
And duty for my guide. 

But echoes of thy fame 

Waft by on wings of memory, 

And day by day my constant thoughts 
Like prilgrims go to thee. 



44 POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 



jD eQ ty of 2 eneT>Q ' S rQr| t 

A MONODY 

Read by the Author at the Memorial Exercises at Ukiak, 
Mendocino County, California, August 8th, 1885. - . 



vHO has not stood within the chilling gloom 
Where some bright pathway ended in the 
tomb, 
And from its portal could no longer trace 
A future — blank, for want of one loved face 
Then, dazed and broken, blindly faltering back, 
Resumed the round of life's repellent track ? 
What family circle has not broken been 
By this decree, provoked by man's first sin? 
This awful mystery; whose fingers cold 
Can touch impartially the voting or old, 
Point out the fairest for the fatal dart, 
And still the beating of the noblest heart. 
No pride of station and no boast of power 
Prolongs a life for even one short hour. 
The cottager or claimant of a throne, 
On God's great mercy both depend alone; 



•POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 45 

No other power, at last, endures to save, 

And all distinctions level in the grave. 

Toil's implement — the monarch's royal crown, 

At that dark threshold are alike laid down. 

We come as beggars from the Master's hand, 

And at life's close, we still as suppliants stand — 

Oh ! may His mercy, like a mantle, fall 

At that dread hour, in charity, on all. 

What, though our burdens be of pain and care, 

So great they seem, more than the heart can bear; 

Be patient still, we all will lay them soon 

Down by the portals of the quiet tomb; 

And in the silence of that awful shade, 

How many a fault to nothingness will fade! 

The hoarded treasures of the countless vears 

Have been resigned before that shrine of tears. 

For there, each heart has said a last "good-bye," 

And broken there is every earthly tie — 

And when we hold the wreaths that triumph gave, 

We all turn back to lav them on some crrave. 

What meed of praise — w T hat tribute shall w T e pay 
To him the nation meets to mourn to-day? 



46 POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 

Who danger's gauntlet oft in safety ran ; 

Who lived a hero, but to die a man. 

He was but human — but his faults were few ; 

His life w T as honest, and his purpose true. 

Blame not that noble one, that fortune led 

His feet where war had made the pathway red — 

His country called; he did her grief assuage, 

And saved America her heritage. 

Where wrong has been, alone, God knoweth best, 

And there alone His punishment will rest. 

But no just thought confuses now with him 

That awful scourging of a people's sin. 

Over his coffin, sorrowing to-day, 

BowVl are the vet'rans of the blue and gray. 

Over his grave, unworthy strife will cease, 

And North and South clasp hands in lasting peace. 

The flag, whose honor he has saved, hangs low ; 

And all the land is draped in signs of woe ; 

And many a cheek with honest tears is wet, 

Now, that at last his star of life is set. 

But though the flowers we bring be doomed to fade, 

And loving hands that weave them shall be laid 

To moulder back into the common clay, 

Forgotten — like the tributes of this day — 



POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 47 

He leaves one thing, that will not be forgot, 

To live immortal in the people's thought. 

When liberty, enlightening the world, 

All false usurpers from their thrones has hurled ; 

When creeds no more perplex fanatic fools, 

Who live by rote, and worship God by rules ; 

When parties die — and prejudice is dead — 

And ignorance — and in their narrow stead, 

A people live, by truth and reason led — 

A Christian people o'er the whole earth spread — 

Then will the greatness of this man be known ; 

Though back to dust the monumental stone 

Has crumbled, his memory will shine 

Throughout the ages of all coming time. 

So fear not now, within the Nation's sight, 

This glorious epitaph of him to write : 

He leaves, emblazoned on the scroll of fame, 

The matchless splendor of a deathless name. 



4s -POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 



"Iftotfegrubge'Co'Cinie" 



7] DO begrudge to time this lip's fond red, 

This heart's warm pulse, that beat with hope 
and truth 
Through all the years, while lingered yet my 

youth. 
By love's assurance most divinely icd. 
Into the face of pain I bravely looked, 
Nor shrank before: the horrid face of death. 
While I could hope to meet thy constant eyes, 
For me life's desert seemed a paradise. 
But () my darling! I am sad to-night; 
Upon the edge of duty and of care 
The finer fabrics of my life are worn; 
My ardent being feels a strange despair — 
That time prevails; and e'en for thy dear sake, 
The heart that was so brave will surely break. 



POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 49 



Go a (farming ^Portrait of a ViEP s H jJ)iC a ^ en 

Lines dedicated to the hard-working and poorly-paid artists of California- 



1WIY pretty little Gypsy, you've caused me bitter 
woe ; 

But how, my little Gypsy, no man shall ever know. 

For I shall never tell it, and you will never speak, 

And so, between the two of us, the secret we will 
keep. 

Your eyes are dark and solemn, beneath each 
raven tress, 

As though you sought to question the cause of 
my distress ; 

And so, although you've brought me a grief I 
shall not name, 

I like to sit and watch you, and I love you all the 

same. 

You have never told my fortune, but you comfort 
and you bless, 

For your eyes, with tender glances, are like a 
mute caress, 

As with fawn-like grace and freedom you stand 
and look at me, 

Your lovely arm entwining the sturdy greenw r ood 
tree. 



50 POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 

And I thank a kindly Providence that in this age 
of greed, 

When every selfish worldling makes gain his only 
creed, 

There are a few brave spirits who, in the sordid 
strife, 

Catch and hold, with pen or pencil, the lovelier 
things of life. 

A bit of charming landscape, an eye alight with 

love — 
A thought that inspiration has sought and found, 

above 
The plane, where many thousands toil and strive 

till life has flown, 
To build up, for the thankless, their piles of brick 

and stone. 

The hand whose cunning caught you, from fancy 

or from fact, 
Whose brush on canvas fixed you, with genius and 

with tact, 
My gratitude shall follow along Time's checkered 

flight, 

For to me my little Gypsy will bring life-long 
delight. 



POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 51 



"Z\)t glabbest Qeart" 



^HHE gladdest heart in all the world is mine — 

And yet, like showers that fall aslant the shine 
Of April suns, and, in a tearful w T ay, 
Deny the radiant splendor of the day, 
This sobbing breath — these tears upon my cheek, 
Give sad denial to the words I speak. 
For in the years betwixt this and the crave, 
And that long rest its solemn silence brings, 
While shines for us the blest and constant sun, 
Through Autumn's sere and flower - encircled 

Springs, 
There waits no day that we may call our own 
Upon this sin-cursed earth — the slave of time — 
When I may answer you and tell you why 
The gladdest heart in all the world is mine. 



52 POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 



^acramento 



SI N the moonlight, o'er the sidewalk, lone the 
shadows fall, 

And trace so restlessly their shape upon the con- 
vent wall ; 

While my heart, with all its longing to that city 
far and dim, 

Turns to-night, despite of distance — is again w T ith 
him. 

And upon his face I see the shadow of the years, 

As he might, upon my own, read the traces of 
my tears — 

And still nearer than the nearest I am with him in 
mv thought ; 

Does my spirit seek his presence, wild with yearn- 
ing, thus unsought? 

No; and so it reaches, in the night so sweet and 

still, 
Over rock and plain and meadow, o'er valley 

land and hill, 



POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 53 

Over all the years of hunger, for the blessing of 

his smile, 
And unspeaking lingers near his side a little while. 

Once, the tide of life all thrilling, in a Summer's 

night, 
Clasped a moment in his arms, I touched the 

borders of delight ; 
But I turned, my being shaken, and with faltering-, 

aimless feet, 
Fled for years the love forbidden, still so strangely 

sweet. 

And those waves of feeling, breaking through the 

cruel years. 
Leave my heart a hopeless wreck, beneath the 

current of my tears ; 
Yet it turns with all its yearning to that city, far 

and dim, 
And to-night, all else forgetting, is again with him. 



54 . POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 



&nte VUJortem 



y HEX this strange qrarment that my soul has 



worn 

Has burned away beneath the fitful flashes 
Of that wild fever that no cure has known, 

Until the heart consumes to coldest ashes 
"Life's fitful fever," burning with such loss 

Of thought and feeling — earth's diviner treasure, 
So many precious things among the dross, 

Their value would a life-time take to measure. 

When u dust to dust" a strange voice softly says, 

And sadly drop the valley clods above me, 
While telling o'er the events of mv days, 

Amid the tears of those who think they love me ; 
If they could know the seeming endless pain 

That I had passed beyond — and died, 
They would not, surely, wish me back again, 

Where all that's Christ-like still is crucified. 

That priceless debt the world cannot repay — 
A child's lost faith in all its vain assurance, 



POEMS OF ANNA MORRISON REED. 55 

The hope that turns toward a brighter day, 

Through months of toil, and patience, and en- 
durance. 

This is the sum, too oft, through changing years, 
Of sacrifice no words may fitly tell ; 

And so, despite the most regretful tears, 
We sleep, " after life's fitful fever," well. 

I have so suffered — thus a glad relief 

Seems possible ; and now, as Time is fleeting, 
I look where death stands, just beyond my grief, 

And know that there no pulse of pain is beating ; 
Where sin, ingratitude, and pride and lust, 

That have so marred the frail thing 1 I am wearing. 
Lying beside that poor handful of dust, 

Are left at last, while I go on uncaring. 



54 



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